


Heartbreak Dream

by suivac



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suivac/pseuds/suivac
Summary: Lara Jean never stopped writing. Even when love wasn't enough to hold a relationship together, she continued to write her way into a graduate program. It's true—she's not the relationship-type of girl anymore, but she simply doesn't believe love is in her cards right now. However, what happens when one Peter Kavinsky makes a strange appearance in her life years after they broke up?
Relationships: Peter Kavinsky/Lara Jean Song-Covey
Comments: 13
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

I collapse on my bed at almost 2am. When I picked up the part-time position at The Bean, a local coffee shop, to bake pastries and cookies, I didn’t anticipate being this exhausted but I can’t complain too much. The extra money helps and every so often, I get to people-watch and get some inspiration for my fictional pieces for grad school workshops. Best of all, I get to feature some of my own baked stuff once a month, which is the main reason why I got home so late today. I started experimenting with gluten-free brownies for April. It’s not going well.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of the coffee machine. “Make me some too!” I say loud enough for my roommate to hear.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Mia walks into my room with two mugs of coffee and sits on my bed next to me. I glance over to the clock and then back at Mia and I can’t help but notice she’s already dressed, made up, and ready for the day. I will never understand morning people.

“I know you’ve been so busy at the coffee shop lately, but can you come home early tonight? I finally scored a date with this guy from my poetry class and he’s bringing a friend—“

“Not from poetry. Nope. Don’t date anyone from your field, Mia. Poets are so temperamental. Besides, you still owe from the last double-date I went on for you.” I cringe at the memory. The guy wouldn’t stop talking about fungi over dinner. How rude.

“Please! I’ll buy you those chocolate chips that are so expensive!” She clasps her hands together and pouts.

I squint my eyes at her. I desperately want those chocolate chips for a new cookie recipe I’m trying out, but is it worth another bad date? Granted, I never take these dates seriously anymore and it’s not because I’ve given up on love or anything. I’ve accepted that it simply isn’t the right time to love. I’ve only been in two serious relationships in my life: Peter Kavinsky in high school and part of college, and Nick Manalo during my gap years before graduate school. In both cases, “love” just wasn’t enough. There were too many things to do, places to explore, stories to write. Eventually, days would pass without a single phone call or text message, or someone would get jealous, or we’d just be too independent to go on together. Of course the break-ups were hard to get through, but nothing was as bad as letting Peter go. I suppose that’s true for any first love, but I don’t know. In any case, I’ve gotten used to being alone and I like it... for the most part.

“Two bags of chocolate chips and you’ve got yourself a deal,” I say as I start getting ready.

Mia fist pumps and begins rattling off details of the meet-up. I go through my morning routine with ease, but a thought keeps nagging me: When is the right time for a relationship? When I was still with Peter, I thought how much better it would be if we were older, if we could be together at 27 instead of 17. In my mid-20s now, I wonder if I’m reaching that age to be with someone again, to be able to rely on them, and come home to them. I think of Margo and her boyfriend, Ravi. In all honesty, I didn’t think they’d last for this long, but it seems like they’ve found the perfect balance. I wonder if I’ll get there one day. I really hope so.

After another half hour of listening to Mia’s excitement, we head out together to The Bean to work on our short stories for class. I’m currently struggling to branch out from the romance stories I’ve always loved reading since I was younger. My assignment this week is to write something suspenseful, but it always comes back to a love story and I guess I never outgrew the genre.

We walk into the building and my boss, Trixie, smiles up from behind the counter. It’s a smart space catered for the university crowd with plugs everywhere and the wi-fi password clearly written on the chalkboard wall. Trixie’s dad used to own this place, but when it didn’t compete well with the new Starbucks in the area, Trixie came up with some great ideas to revive the place. Soon, The Bean was known for having trivia or board game nights, open mics, and other fun events.

I came here for the first time for the MFA graduate students poetry and short story open mic, and I just fell in love with the place. At the time, Trixie was starting a new project to introduce homemade baked goods to the menu. I remember her bringing a plate of cookies over to the grad students’ table and asking for feedback on some free cookies. They were rock hard and had too many chocolate chips, but they were free, so we kept eating them anyway. I gave Trixie some advice, and she hired me on the spot.

“I didn’t think we’d see you today after you spent so much time here last night,” she says.

“I can’t stay away from your coffee for too long, Trix.” I sit down at the corner table and plug in my computer. “What did you think of the brownie batch I made last night?”

“Your best batch by far. I couldn’t even tell it was gluten-free. You think it’s ready to be featured?” We talk a little more about my recipe and other plans when she interrupts to ask, “I forgot to ask if you were busy around 10? I’ve got some new recruits coming in that need some training and Brandon bailed so...”

“I’m an awful barista. Are you sure you want me to do that?”

“I keep telling you, Lara Jean, you’ve just got to keep practicing. But anyway, I don’t have anyone else right now and besides, you know the basics. It’s rush hour that freaks you out.”

It’s pretty much the same problem I had when I started driving, but training can’t be that hard.

“You’ll just be showing them around the coffee machine and recipes and stuff. Please?”

“Sure, Trix. How many recruits?”

“Two. I’d do it, but I have that supplier meeting,” she rolls her eyes, “but it’ll be really simple. One of them will be on shift with you and the other will come back for a shift with me tonight. Besides, it’s Wednesday so it shouldn’t get too busy in here.”

“Sounds good.” I quickly go back to my work to get as many words down as possible, but writer’s block isn’t forgiving. Next thing I know, Trix is calling me to come behind the counter and grind some beans for the day. I put on my apron and pull the step ladder towards me with my foot so I can grab a bag of dark roast beans on the top shelf. I open the cabinet and start pulling things down when Trixie comes back behind the counter.

“Just show them the basics and tell them about the inventory system. We’ll go over the menu in parts so just show them how to do the hot drinks fir—“

I hear the bell ring as the door opens and Trixie squeals, “They’re here!” The cabinet blocks my view of the incoming recruits so I continue getting the beans off the shelf while she shows them around the front area.

As I’m closing the cabinet door, I hear a girl’s high pitched voice introduce herself as Danielle. Another person begins to speak, but I recognize that deep voice and my eyes go wide. No way.

“Peter?” I whisper, too shocked to grasp the entirety of the situation. We hold each other in a lockdown stare. His face is leaner, his hair slightly overgrown, and his eyes... his eyes are the same.

“Hi Lara Jean,” he says coolly. He looks down at his shoes and scratches his head, and I realize he’s nervous too.

“Oh, good. You know each other! Great, you’ll stay on with Lara Jean for the first shift, and Danielle will come back at 4pm. Lara Jean will show you both the basics so just get a feel for the place. It’s really chill, you’ll see. Be good to them, Lara Jean!” she leaves and waves at us through the window.

“So... let’s get started.” I say quickly and hop off the stool and move it to the corner. I brush my apron lightly and look at the two of them.

Peter stares at me in disbelief and then his lips curl upwards. He’s amused. I focus as best I can on Danielle because my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty, and I need to try and not make this awkward. “Let’s begin with the back, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

"Lara Jean? Where are you? I'm about to head out to the restaurant. Should I just meet you there? Lara Jean?" Mia asks through the phone.

Peter waves me at me from our booth in a bar too far away from the restaurant I'm supposed to be heading towards. "I don't think I'm gonna make it today, Mia. Sorry, something came up."

"Are you serious? I can't just go on a date with TWO guys—"

I hang up and head back with a nervous smile on my face. I can feel my cheeks reddening partly from the alcohol and partly from the situation. When Peter walked into the cafe to be trained today, I certainly didn't think we'd sit at a bar later and just catch up after zero communication for the last four or five years.

"Everything alright, Covey?" he asks and I know I've been reduced to a character from my airport romance novels because I'm genuinely lost in his eyes. I'm sixteen again and my breath hitches. It was worse when we were working the shift.

* * *

_I take them through the back area where my kitchen experiments happen, and then I show them the dishwasher settings for the big ceramic mugs Trixie collected over the years. All this time, Peter looks like he has something to say, but his lips are zipped shut._

_"Laura, are we supposed to bake stuff if we're on the morning shift?" Danielle pokes around the ovens._

_"It's Lara Jean," Peter says before I can correct her, and then they both look at me for an answer._

_I stutter, "Uh y-yes, probably as you get more used to this place. But for now, I've got those covered in the mornings and Trixie makes the afternoon batches. We'll start with the hot drinks menu and build on from there." I take them back through the door and into the main area to show them how to operate the coffee machine._

_As I go through, Peter and I bump into each other. It's barely any contact, but we both begin mumbling half apologies at the same time. "Sorry—no, you're fine. Sorry. Yes, so... we can start... and then... mugs are over here, Danielle!" I say awkwardly and walk to the farthest corner hoping I'm not blushing too hard. I scold myself for being so childish. Yes, he's my first love. And ex-boyfriend. And it's been years since we've talked. And I'm training him. I sigh loudly in disbelief._

_"Is this yours, Covey?" Peter says as he pulls down something from the shelf. It's a slightly misshapen teal mug that looks like the hatbox my mom gave me when I was younger. Peter looks inside the mug and smiles, and I know he's seen the small drawings of envelopes at the bottom. I thought it was a cool surprise to find, but no one ever understood why there would be letters at the bottom of a box._

_"Trixie likes to collect one-of-a-kind wide soup-mugs." I say, avoiding the question. I look at Danielle, "When you're done with your full training, Trix will take you to a pottery studio down the street and you'll make your own."_

_I hand them each a pack of flashcards that has each of the menu items and how to make them. I tell them to memorize the hot drinks before their second shift, and then show them the little visual guide that we hide from customers, but are perfectly placed for baristas to check on when they need to remember a recipe quickly. I made these a few weeks ago for myself so I don't get flustered, but I think it will be helpful._

_"Hey LJ," I turn around and see Martin, a regular customer. "How's it going?"_

_We chat for a little bit until I realize Peter and Danielle are waiting for me. I look over at Peter and notice him looking at Martin a little suspiciously, but I'm not sure. I'm probably being paranoid. I mean we've been broken up for a while, heck we haven't seen each other in years. He could be in a relationship for all I know, and that's fine. I wouldn't be jealous if that were the case and he wouldn't be jealous now either._

_I turn towards the two of them and hand them a to-go cup. "I'll take you through this order on the main coffee machine, and you two try to do the same thing on the second one." While Danielle fumbles for a while, Peter surprisingly does the job with more ease even if he looks at his notes regularly. We continue doing this for the next few customers that filter in, and at some point, he gives full reins to Danielle while he runs back and forth to put the duplicate drinks in the fridge. I know I'll be handing them out to the graduate crowd that will come in later._

_By the end of the hour, they're able to operate the main coffee machine with a bit more confidence. I conclude the training and remind Danielle to come back later for her shift with Trixie. Before I know it, it's just Peter and I left in the building. It's 1pm and the main room is empty._

_I count the drawer again, which make no sense since I'm not clocking off yet. Peter seems like he doesn't know what to do either because he wipes the same counter down even though it's completely dry. I'm so curious about what he's doing here in San Diego of all places. Does he still talk to Kitty? Did Kitty know? Should I be mad at Kitty? I pull out my phone to text her when Peter clears his throat, and I look up at him._

_"Hi," he looks at me warmly._

_I suck in a breath, "What are you doing here?"_

* * *

I sit back down at our table and twiddle my thumbs. "You still haven't answered my question, you know."

He avoids my eyes and moves his straw around his drink. "I didn't know you were working there," he begins, "but I knew you were somewhere in the area. I figured we'd run into each other eventually. I've actually been in the area for about a year?"

"How did you...?"

"Gen told me."

"But I didn't—"

"I know. Chris mentioned it in passing to her at the reunion, which you missed by the way," he says joke-accusingly, "and then she told me when I was home for Christmas, and then Kitty kind of confirmed it when I tried coming by your house to see...you."

_Kitty, what the hell?_ The alcohol combined with the news makes me dizzy.

"Don't be mad at Kitty," he says quickly, somehow knowing what I'm thinking. "She probably doesn't even remember that she mentioned it in passing. She was talking about where Margot was and you were, and your dad moving hospitals, and I don't know. I was just really curious to see how you were doing and..."

"So... you followed me out here?"

"No, I was already here. I, uh, coach a team at the high school nearby."

My mouth drops, "You what?"

It's his turn to blush and he takes a swig of his beer. "I just needed to make ends meet and I saw Trixie's hiring poster at school, so I applied. I used to work as a barista in college."

"It's expensive to live here." I nod at him with understanding and remember the high school crowd that comes in every Friday. It makes sense. "Coach Kavinsky, huh?"

He laughs and I smile.

"Your turn. What are you doing in San Diego?"

I tuck my hair behind my ear and tell him about my graduate program. Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's because the ice is really broken, but I start telling him about my life here. It just spills out of me, and he laughs and listens and asks questions, and it's like time paused and we're just talking in the diner back home over milkshakes and fries.

He tells me about Owen being at college, and we both cringe at the thought of our younger siblings growing up. He opens up about his lacrosse injury and why he started coaching, how he loves the job, and the kids. We laugh over my continued love for cheesy romance books, and order another plate of food. As we talk, my hand ghosts over where the necklace I stopped wearing would have been.

Soon, it's midnight and we head out to our cars. We're completely sober, at ease, and I've almost completely forgotten to be mad at Kitty.

He stands by my car and laughs. "It's just like you to be driving a Bug."

I roll my eyes, "You know me well."

For a moment, the air is still and I forget we're not seventeen anymore.

"So, friends?" he asks.

"Friends." My heart sinks before I realize it does. "Yes, of course. Friends."


	3. Chapter 3

My phone glows in the darkness and my fingers fly across the screen to type when I see Kitty respond defensively.

**Kitty**

How was I supposed to know he was going to see you?

**Lara Jean**

That's not the point!

**Margot**

Lara Jean, you're friends now though right? So does it *really* matter what Kitty did?

**Lara Jean**

...

**Kitty**

...so are you getting back together?

**Margot**

Kitty!

I put my phone down on the bedside table and smash my face into my pillow. I stifle a scream so I don't wake Mia. I was lucky she was already in her room when I came in because she's probably still mad I cancelled on the double-date situation fairly last minute. _Sigh_ , I should have gone with her… at least then I'd have chocolate chips and not this…confusion?

We're friends. That's what we decided. We're going to work together and we're going to be friends. Although I have no idea what that entails, I fall asleep pondering while my phone continues to buzz.

* * *

The next morning, I go through the motions of my routine, and when I finally emerge from my room, Mia stands behind the counter drinking her coffee.

"Sorry, Mia..." I pout.

She rolls her eyes and puts a mug of coffee on the countertop and pushes it towards me. "Whatever, it worked out for me. Not for you though?" She looks me up and down. It's clear I was entirely distracted today: my hair is in a too-messy knot above my head, I've buttoned my blouse all wrong, and I'm still wearing my pajama bottoms. Nothing's turning out right today.

I take a deep breath, "I'm working with my ex at the cafe."

Her jaw drops and her eyes are wide. "Which one?" she asks.

"The first one, Peter Kavinsky."

She sucks in air through her teeth making a disapproving noise that resonates deep within me.

"And I had dinner with him last night."

"You dumped me for a date with your ex?" she laughed. "Your life is a very strange romance novel, Lara Jean."

"It wasn't a date." I blushed, "We were just catching up." I pick up the coffee and hide my face behind the mug.

"How awkward was it? Is he quitting?"

"You're worse than my sister!" I stomp back into my room and she follows me in. I explain that it wasn't entirely awkward, but that we didn't exactly talk about our breakup either. It didn't really seem relevant. We're friends and we're totally okay with that. I think it's great.

"Great? What even happened with you guys?"

I didn't even want to revisit it. Truthfully, I don't want to accept fault. I avoid her gaze and the question.

"What was it that we needed to write for tonight?" I ask while gathering a pile of clothes from the chair and dump it on the floor.

She rolls her eyes at me, "Whatever, Lara Jean. I give it a month before you guys get back together."

"Hah. I'm sure he has a girlfriend." I say, putting on a pair of jeans.

"Wouldn't he have mentioned it if he went to have drinks with you last night?"

I pause. He did mention Gen a couple of times. It's possible they're back together... but that thought truly angers me. Why would he be talking with that ex and not me? Oh.

Mia will never be satisfied with my answers, but I manage to push us both out of the apartment and head towards the café to get some words down for class. The suspense story I'm working on just plain sucks at this point. Mia points out that if I write about my life, I'd be getting somewhere. She's not wrong.

When we enter the café, it's half-empty, and finding a free table is easy. Mia elbows me and points her chin up towards the barista behind the counter as if silently asking if the guy at the counter is Peter, and it's not. It's suddenly easier to breathe, but I know it's just some awkward tension still. That's all, I'm sure of it.

I open my laptop and start typing to shift my mind to the matter at hand.

Several hours go by before Trixie stops at my table and says, "Lunch rush is early today. Do you mind?"

I check behind her and, with no Peter in sight, I smile and help out for a while. I usually wouldn't be this calm, but with other stressors in my life right now, this is almost okay. Plus, Trixie was there and she was carrying the bulk of the load anyway, so I pass paper cups to the current working barista, Jeff, and then restock the display, and put new coffee beans in the grinder. It's enough to distract me until, of course, I hear _his_ voice.

"Hi Trixie," he says and then nods at me, "and Lara Jean."

I nod back and then look to Mia with wide eyes: _That's him. That's Peter Kavinsky._

She checks him out then gives me a big thumbs-up.

"Trix, I should probably go back to my assignment since Peter's here," I take off my apron and hang it up.

"Oh, right. Thanks for the help Lara Jean." She says and then checks in with me about the brownie feature. Afterwards, I overhear her talking with Peter about his shift and things, so I put my headphones in and try to concentrate. It's so strange being here in the same room with him. I feel so young and childish thinking maybe he's looking over at me, maybe he's talking about me. I'm in my mid-twenties for crying out loud. I turn up the music and try to drown in my work.

Several hours later, I've managed to write four pages of reasonable quality. I take off my headphones and take a deep breath. I look up and see that the café is mostly empty, and then I find Peter looking at me.

"That was quite the writing zone you were in," he says while wiping down the counter.

I chuckle, "Could you tell?"

"Well, you type really loudly."

"Girl, he's right." Mia chimes in and I quickly stare daggers at her. "Don't look at me like that. I live with you." She turns to Peter and says, "I'm Mia, by the way."

"Hey," he says and waves awkwardly, "I'm Peter."

"I know," she winks at him. I kick her under the table. "Ow!"

I stand up to put my mug away when Peter comes over and offers to take it for me.

"Oh, that's fine, I know where it goes."

He chuckles, "Obviously you do, but I'm not supposed to let a customer put it away, right? At least that's what Trixie says."

I roll my eyes at him, "You don't have to do that."

"I know, I want to." He takes the mug from me and turns away. "So, what are you writing anyway?"

"She's trying to write suspense, but she sucks at it."

"Shut up, Mia," I say loudly. "But she's also not wrong."

"That's what you get for not reading the Bourne books I told you were so good."

"Ooooh, Peter knows where it's at!" Mia throws her hand up to high-five Peter as he walks back.

He high-fives her and then says to me, "Glad you have someone with taste living with you, Lara Jean."

"You guys suck." I say with a frown and then sit back at my table. "It's not that bad now I think."

Peter comes up behind me placing his hand on the back of my chair and the other on the table near my laptop. He bends down to try to read my document before I lower the screen. "It's not done yet."

"You haven't changed one bit, Lara Jean," he laughs.

I sigh. _Apparently not._


	4. Chapter 4

Several weeks have gone by since Peter started working at the café, and I figured out it's best to work during the week (when he's coaching at school) rather than on weekends. Not that it's awkward or anything… I just get more anxious around him.

For example, there was one Saturday morning when I opened the café and started a batch of cookies. It was a mistake to think I would be alone in the café for long now that we have new hires, but I was used to quiet weekend mornings. Anyway, I had some music on and flour on my face when Peter walked in to start his shift at the counter.

He laughed, "Covey, why do you always have flour on your face?"

A shiver went down my spine when he called me that. It wasn't unpleasant, just… surprising. "It just always ends up there," I said wiping it off my face but inevitably making it worse. "Sorry, I didn't know you were working today." I turned down my music.

He chuckled again and walked towards me. "May I?" he asked with napkin in hand to help brush it off. I nodded without thinking and let him. He was so close, and it was such familiar territory.

It seemed like he was lingering for a moment with his hand on my face, but when his eyes met mine, he tossed the napkin away and turned around. "All better."

I walked back to the kitchen calling thanks over my shoulder, and pretended that I wasn't bothered at all by that small moment. But I couldn't help but feel this nostalgic kind of awkward, like looking back at old, embarrassing photos of yourself doing something stupid.

"Did you change your recipe or is it still the same one from before?" he asked, referring to my grand revelation of using parchment paper instead of silpat mats.

"It changed a little." I replied.

He wiped down a counter and said quietly, "I thought it was perfect."

"Well, there was room for improvement."

He stayed quiet. I realized maybe we weren't talking about cookies anymore. Maybe I should have thanked him instead.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything," I said and walked back without hearing him acknowledge me. We spent the rest of the morning in our respective areas—him behind the counter, and me in the farthest corner of the kitchen.

I guess because we don't have much to bond over in the present, we always end up going back to the safer memories of our past, meaning anything to do with some mutual friends. But it's been a few weeks now, and we've run out of things to say.

* * *

I walk into a public library with a thermos of hot tea, and find a quiet place to get some reading done. Since Peter started at the café, I find myself distracted more often, so I figured a change of scenery would do me some good.

I find a couch in a secluded area and turn it towards the window, then start stacking the books onto the table next to me. Finally, I pull out a trashy romance novel to start. I never could shake the habit even after completing a degree in English literature, but it's my read-for-fun genre, and I probably won't ever grow out of it.

I did, however, grow out of this hyper-romantic view of life. Maybe not entirely, but I've tried. Heartbreak does that to a person. My mind goes back to Nick Manalo, my last boyfriend, and how that blanket of security disintegrated before my eyes. I shake the feeling. Between Peter vaguely coming back into my life and this random throwback to Nick… I just can't keep lingering on this. I shut the book and pack it back in my bag. Sighing, I pull a book from the middle of the stack and get cracking.

Several hours, and pages and pages go by when I realize the sun has gone down. I've managed to finish two books for class, and I have my notes to write my next assignment, so I get everything together and head out to my car. I see some guy leaning on my car sharing a sweet kiss with someone, but at this point I'm exhausted and there's no romance left in me to just let them have a moment.

"Excuse me, can you please move off my car?" I ask, trying not to ruin the moment entirely.

"Yeah, sorry." The woman giggles and steps away.

The guy turns around and drops his jaw. "Lara Jean?"

I suck in a breath and keep my cool, "Hi. Can you move?"

He takes a step back and scratches his head. "My bad, sorry about that. I didn't know you came here."

"First time." I reply, looking down at my books. "Anyway, I should get going." I point to the car and take a couple shaky steps towards my door.

"Right, of course. Uh… bye." Peter says and follows after the giggly woman. As I pull out of my space, I glance over at him just as he takes a moment to glance over at me. He turns away quickly, and I drive off.

* * *

I open the video chat, and both Margot and I gasp at the sight of Kitty's new purple ombre hair.

"You like?" Kitty says, swishing her hair back and forth.

Margot and I both squeal in excitement. "You look amazing!"

"Ooh, crown braids are going to look so good on you," I say.

"They do," Kitty replies, proud of herself, "but anyway, I can't stay for long, there's this party later that I'm so excited to go to."

Just as Margot and I begin to interrupt with warnings and safety, Kitty says in a loud voice, "Yes, I know. I'm going with friends. I'll be safe. It's just a party. Chill."

We laugh and Margot says, "So how was that test?"

We catch each other up on our daily goings-on. Kitty got a 90 on an exam, Margot tells us more about the job she's taken and the apartment she's settled into. Kitty gives us an update on dad and Trina. Eventually, the questions swing around to me, and the topic is always about Peter.

"Don't you want to hear about the story I wrote?" I ask hopeful for something different to talk about.

"The suspense one? Honestly, no." Kitty says bluntly. "Did something happen with Peter?"

"Well…" I explain the embarrassing scene outside of the library, and even though I try to dodge some of the more difficult details, they are my sisters, and they never cease to press for answers.

"You didn't know he went there?" Margot asks while eating some popcorn.

"How would I know? We barely talk." I say.

Kitty fiddles with her hair and says, "Lara Jean, was the public library near a school? Namely, Peter's school? The one he coaches at? Because then it's technically your fault since you know he works at a school."

I roll my eyes. Of course, she'd blame me; Peter Kavinsky is blameless in Kitty's world.

"Kitty," Margot warns, "she already said she didn't know. So…how do you feel about it Lara Jean?"

I think, at the time, it was a mixture of embarrassment and maybe just a twinge of jealousy. But I don't have a right to be jealous so I don't say anything about that to my sisters.

After a few moments of silence, "Do you miss him?" Kitty asks in a small, hopeful voice.

I think for a moment. "I moved on a long time ago."

Kitty groans.

"You can tell us, LJ." Margot insists.

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders but then it spills out of me, "I don't know if I miss him or if I miss the old us. But it's not the same and if there are any feelings, it's just nostalgia. That's all it is. Yes, I've wondered if we'd be good together at a different time in our lives like our mid-twenties, for example, but there's no chance of that, and I'm not hoping for it."

There's a small moment of silence, but my sisters get it. I know they do. They change the topic quickly and we help Kitty choose an outfit for her party tonight. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then scream at Kitty for stealing my heels.

* * *

I'm still working on croissants in the back area when I hear the door jingle. It's not unusual to be getting customers on a Friday evening, but there are more unrecognizable faces in the main area today. I make my way to Trixie behind the counters to see if she needs help, and then I see Peter take a seat and offer the other to someone with him.

"Lara Jean, are the testers ready?"

"One second, Trix!" I say and hide behind the ovens. I take a deep breath.

"You look like you've just seen your ex-boyfriend on a date with a hottie."

I jump, startled at the truth of that statement. "Trixie! Uh…"

"Relax, honey. Your pastries are never as bad as you think they are. In fact, are the testers ready? Can we put these out?" she asks and tries to open the oven.

I block her, "Wait! It's not done yet. Pastries are temperamental with heat."

"Oh, my bad. Can you help me out here? I need more beans."

I follow behind her with some supplies and keep my eyes trained on her back. I ignore the sight because I don't know why I'm acting like a child. I've worked with Peter multiple times. I look over at them, and it's not a woman he's sitting with. Rather, it's a long-haired boy.

"John Ambrose?" I say.

He turns around with a big smile on his face, "Hi Lara Jean."


	5. Chapter 5

John Ambrose visited me three times in college. The first time he didn't actually visit me, but I did see him at an event and we said hi. Peter and I got into a huge argument when I told him, so I didn't tell him about the second time John Ambrose visited me, which was when he was there for a competition. We had coffee and caught up, and he tucked my hair behind my ear before I stepped into my car so naturally I avoided talking to him for a year and a half but even that well-kept secret couldn't stop Peter and I from breaking up. The last time he visited was the last time we saw each other, which was at a writing conference. He encouraged me to apply for the program I'm in now, but I put it off and he went ahead of me. But now he's here, and it shouldn't be as big of a surprise since he's most likely in town for the alumni writer's workshop.

But he's here. With Peter, who laughs, "Isn't this crazy? I just saw him walking around here."

"Just my luck." I say under my breath and place down the beans on the counter.

"So how's the writing going, Lara Jean?" John Ambrose asks.

I look at him and he looks different. He's leaner but worn, like he's tired but still fighting. But his smile is so bright, and it reminds me of a simpler time.

"You should read her suspense stuff." Peter winks at me.

I roll my eyes and say to John Ambrose, "I didn't know you were coming back for the workshop."

"I didn't know you actually followed through with coming here," he replies and smiles even wider. "I'm so proud of you."

I glance over at Peter and notice his smile press into a line and something withdraws from his eyes, but he shakes out of it and stands up. "Anyway, it was good to run into you, man. Let's get dinner sometime. All three of us. You in, Covey?"

"Uh. Of course, yes. Let's do it."

Peter waves goodbye and walks out. And then there were two.

"So… you and Peter… working together?"

I shrug, "It was a shock to me too."

"And you guys are?"

"Just friends. But we're good as friends."

"Wait, you and Peter dated?" Trix says, and I realize I'm still at work and there are still customers.

I blush and John Ambrose moves from his table to the counter. "When do you get off?"

"She's off now. Bye Lara Jean!" Trix pushes me and then whispers in my ear, "You can thank me later with the gossip!"

"But the croissants-"

"I'll grab them. It's fine. Go!"

I take off my apron, pick up my bag, and head out with John Ambrose close behind me. The air hits my face and as I breathe it in, I catch his cologne with it.

"So what are you doing here?" I gently nudge him, "Peter said he just saw you walking around?"

He takes a deep breath and puts his hands in his pockets even though it's not really cold at all outside. "I was in the graduate lounge earlier catching up with Dr. Cartwright. Someone mentioned coming here to write and how a grad student named Lara Jean sometimes gives free samples, and well… I hardly know anyone else who goes by Lara Jean so I thought I'd try my luck. Hey, do you serve those peanut butter chocolate cupcakes?"

I chuckle, "If you're around long enough, I might get Trix to feature it."

We walk a few steps going nowhere in particular letting a comfortable silence fill the space between us.

"Thanks for pushing me to apply by the way," I turn to face him as we walk, "I really feel like I'm meant to be here."

"I think you are too," he says kindly. "but I didn't know if you'd do it. It's probably the farthest from home you've ever been, right?"

"Well, not anymore. I visited Margot once, but I mean that was just a vacation. So yeah, this is the farthest I've lived away from home." I'm babbling but I'm not sure how to stop. "So, what are you doing now?"

"Traveling a little, writing a lot for a new site in New York, and I started my own publication too actually. You should submit some pieces if you have the time."

My jaw drops, "Wow."

"Hey, it's just starting up and it's really not out there yet."

"But still, that's amazing. I'm so excited for you!" I give him a side-hug as we walk, and we keep walking like this: his arm around me and mine around him.

"Thanks, Lara Jean." He tells me more about his life and travels, and the cold weather in New York. We step into a new rhythm in conversation. He asks more about the program and how I like it. We talk about the professors, the writing prompts, and the books. We trade book recommendations and get into strong debates over the ending of "Pachinko." It feels like we've walked miles and talked double the length.

I look at my watch and notice how late it's getting, so we walk back to my car.

"We probably should have gone somewhere to sit down and chat," I laugh, "but at least we got our steps in for the day."

He opens my door for me, but I linger outside for just another moment to drink the picture of him in.

"Your number's still the same?" he asks.

I nod.

"Good," he grins, "then we can talk more tomorrow and you can show me more of the city? Or maybe some of your writing?"

"Oh no, you actually have to critique it on Monday."

We laugh. "I'm looking forward to it."

I nudge him away with my elbow and step inside. "Are you sure I can't give you a ride to the hotel?"

He shakes his head and says, "I like walking."

"Text me tomorrow."

"Count on it," he closes my door for me. He smiles again and starts walking away.

I enter my apartment and place the keys down on the table. The bottle of wine is on the counter and I hear Mia laughing in her room. Sighing, I head inside my room and kick clothes out of my way. My room is a reflection of my mind: it's messy. Even after Margot made me read and watch Marie Kondo, I just couldn't help but keep everything important. It's why my sisters hate helping me move.

After washing up and changing into an oversized shirt, I turn on the fairy lights, and sit in my bed with the intention to go to sleep. But my mind is running 100mph. Irritated, I get back up and go to the freezer to pull out some cookie dough, then turn on the oven. It's a comforting and mindless routine, like meditating, but instead I get food out of it. I boil some water while I'm at it to make some night-night tea.

Mia stumbles out of her room in just a button-up shirt, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and a wide, tipsy smile on her face. She hiccups, "Oh, hey."

I wave awkwardly and sit on the stool.

She looks over at the baking tray with cookie dough on it and says, "Uh oh. Pensive bake?"

"No…"

"Oh, right because they're not snickerdoodles." She rolls her eyes, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing… just worried about the alumni workshop." It's a believable enough excuse.

"Relax, love. It's not till Monday," she says as she pours another glass for herself and one for the guy inside her room then kisses me on the cheek and says goodnight.

Left alone in silence and partial darkness, I continue to bake and drink tea, and avoid confronting how I feel about John Ambrose being back and Peter being back, and Peter being with another girl. At least when we broke up, I didn't have to see him or anyone he dated after me. But now… well, so much for avoiding the feelings.

My phone dings. John Ambrose texted me.

John Ambrose: It was great seeing you tonight.

Lara Jean: You, too.

The ellipses blink on my screen and then stop. Within moments, another ding.

John Ambrose: I'm sure your suspense stories aren't that bad.

Lara Jean: LOL you have no idea.

John Ambrose: Send it to me, and I promise I'll be a better judge of it than Kavinsky.

Lara Jean: No, you'd hate it even more.

John Ambrose: Give me a chance, LJ.

Smiling, I put the baking stuff away and take the tea and cookies into my room. We text through the night and I avoid sending him my crappy suspense story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far! I'll be posting new chapters every Monday (:


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up to the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen, and then footsteps, and then the front door closing shut. Ah, Saturday mornings.

_Knock knock_.

Mia strolls into my room in a romantic daze. "He's perfect!"

I roll over onto my stomach and cover my head with my pillow. "You said that about your last date two weeks ago."

"Not the point, LJ. He's smart and cute, and last night…"

"Nuh uh. We agreed you'd spare me the details," I growl from under the pillow. "What time is it?"

"10:30am. Do you still have cookies from last night? I wanted to bring some when I see Jeff later."

I grumble and she rambles on about Jeff's hair and his dimples and his thoughts about post-colonialism. I walk into the bathroom and she still goes on even after my shower and makeup routine. I don't know if I've become cynical or if I straight-up hate love, but at this moment, I hate Mia.

In any case, I wrap her up some leftover cookies and she leaves. The quiet in our apartment is so satisfying and I finally plop down at my desk. But the empty document on my screen stays blank, and I can't seem to get myself to focus.

I open up the drawer and pull out some stationary Margot bought me from her last trip to Korea. I pick up a pen and write the date in the left-hand corner.

_Dear Peter and John Ambrose,_

_I can't believe I'm writing another letter. I can't believe I'm writing a letter addressed to you both, but for whatever reason, you both decided to pop up in my life within the span of a few months, and to be quite honest, I'm not even sure how I should feel now. Therefore, this letter is for both of you._

_Nostalgia is powerful, so it's important to distinguish that from any feelings I have right now. And I've decided I'm nostalgic. But just in case, I'm writing this letter to remind myself._

_Once upon a time, I liked you, Peter. I even loved you. But I failed you twice and I know that there's no bouncing back from that. I'm sorry I broke your heart. I almost want to fall in love with you again so you can break mine, and maybe we can be even. When I saw you kissing that woman on the side of my car, I was slightly jealous and embarrassed for feeling that way. I want you to be happy, and if she makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. Truly._

_John Ambrose, it's always been complicated with you. You're so wonderful. We were never together, but I've pictured us several times in my life, and I can't start that again now. It would be a bad idea-you don't even live here. You might even have a girlfriend now, and I'd be happy for you if that were the case. I know I hurt you once when we were young, and I refuse to hurt you again._

_To both of you, I want to remain friends. It's the mature thing to do, but I know acquaintances is all we ever can be now._

_Maybe I have become cynical or maybe I've developed a more realistic point of view on "love." But let's be real: love isn't easy and I'm not ready to take it on. Maybe you both can teach me something about it one day._

_Thank you for letting me love you once upon a time._

_Sincerely,_

_Lara Jean Song-Covey_

After signing it off with a flourish, I fold it in thirds and put it inside of an envelope, which I seal and hide away in the bottom of the last drawer. I sigh with relief. Writing has always helped me process these things, but now I have a solid opinion: we're all going to cope with being friends, or at least I will.

* * *

I step into the café and find John Ambrose seated by the window with a book in hand. He looks up at me and smiles.

"Where are my cupcakes?" he asks.

"Just because you asked for them doesn't mean you get them, McClaren." I set my things at his table and give him a side hug.

"Do you want anything? It's on me."

"Are you kidding? I work here. I'll grab us something. Coffee?" He nods and I walk over to the counter to place an order.

"Hey Covey, you and McClaren got plans today?" Peter asks while pulling out a paper cup. I look over and he's already writing down my regular order. I'll admit it hasn't changed in years, but he still remembers and that's… that doesn't mean anything.

"Just writing here, but if you're free after, we can go to dinner. Or we can do tomorrow. Whatever works for you." I think I said all that coolly, and he seems to suspect nothing.

"Yo, McClaren, whipped cream on it?"

John Ambrose nods from the corner and gets back to reading.

"Sure, Covey. I'll come over to you guys when I get off and we can figure out somewhere to go. Sounds good?"

I nod, grab the coffees, and sit back down across from John Ambrose, who is still engrossed in his book. Taking in a deep breath, I clear my mind and take a stab at the next writing assignment for class. As my hands fly across the keyboard, I fall into a deep concentration.

An hour goes by before John Ambrose puts down the book and stares out with glazed eyes. Usually, that means it was a good book. He pulls out a journal and begins writing furiously and then, with a sigh of finality, he puts it down and smiles at me.

"You've got to read this book."

I laugh, "You looked like a cartoon character just then."

"Can't help it when it's a good book. You know the feeling."

"Absolutely. What was it about?"

Loosely, he tells me the plot and catches himself when he's about to reveal some big plot twist I shouldn't know about yet. He gets more and more animated as he speaks, and I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. I love seeing people get passionate about something.

Just as he gets into the next part, a woman walks into the store and says, "Hey babe!"

Peter leans over the counter and gives her a quick peck, whispers in her ear, and gets back to work. She takes a seat and waits.

My heart begins to race and then it hurts a little. Even though our break-up was so long ago, it still a shock to see him move on. I know I should expect it, but someone tell my heart that.

John Ambrose pauses. "Are you okay, Lara Jean?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Sorry, I was thinking about my assignment."

"Who's it for?"

"Cartwright," I say, "but it's tough." I explain the assignment guidelines and my working draft. He insists on reading it, but I think it's a little like cheating when it's not done yet. "If you read it and give me feedback, I'll have an unfair advantage."

"You're telling me no one asks their friends to read over their stuff?"

"You're an alum! It's definitely cheating."

"I'm your friend first, Lara Jean. Please! I just want to see how you write!"

I close my laptop, "Not a chance."

We laugh and he eases us back into a chill conversation about his book and any of my current reads, and classes. I relax into our chat and almost forget about the blonde sitting a few chairs away from me.

Eventually, Peter gets out from behind the counter and heads over to the blonde. I feel so conscious of his movement and the space between us, but I keep my attention on John Ambrose as he tells me something else. But my ears can't focus like my eyes can so I overhear Peter tell the girl about his shift and his plans to meet with us. She seems chill with it and stands to leave.

Peter walks over to us after giving her a hug, and sits down at our table. "Hey guys, you ready to head out?"

"I'll just pack up," John Ambrose says and I follow his lead. "Where are we going?"

Peter looks at me and asks about the new Italian place nearby, then I suggest a diner. We go back and forth for a second and then settle on taking him to a pizza place with the greasiest cheese worth eating.

I get up, swing my bag over my shoulder, and ask John Ambrose if he wants to ride with me or Peter, but before I can finish my question, Peter asks to join in as well.

"Actually, Beth dropped me off earlier and she just headed out. Can I grab a ride too, Covey?"

"Sure."

We all pile into my car with John Ambrose in the front and Peter in the back. I take a deep breath. This is going to be an interesting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little later than usual, but I managed to get it done! Let me know what you think or what you want to happen! I'm curious to know haha. See you all again next week and stay safe!


	7. Chapter 7

The ride to the restaurant is boisterous, and I'm glad for it. I never thought sitting alone in a car with two boys I once loved could be quite fun.

"…and this boy runs away from the other kids WITH the basketball! Peter laughs.

"Traveling!" I chime in.

John Ambrose high fives me and Peter claps me on the shoulder from the backseat.

"Exactly, Covey. Which is why, as much as I wanted to let the kid run for his life, I blew the whistle on him. But it would have been so funny."

"Wow, Coach Kavinsky. Who knew you'd be such a hard-ass!" John Ambrose says.

We're all a mess of laughter when I pull into the parking lot of the pizza place. We walk in and the hostess seats us almost immediately, but just as we sit down, the boys start to arm wrestle. Rolling my eyes, I swat them both away and force a menu into their hands.

"I'm starving! I vote we get a pizza each," I say, "because this place is too good to share."

"What happened to the nice Lara Jean?" John Ambrose jokingly asks. "What's a 'Pig Outta Water' pizza?"

"Surprisingly, that one's so good. Beth ordered that one once and even I couldn't-" Peter catches himself and I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to be engrossed by the menu.

"You couldn't even get your hands on the last slice?" John Ambrose laughs.

I join in to ease the tension, and say, "See, I told you it's so good here. John Ambrose, you better watch out. I might even grab your last slice if you're not careful."

Peter stays quiet but smiles politely. I know this wasn't going to be easy, but we were all actually having fun together. In fact, this is the first time since we were kids that we could hang out like this without any weird dating tension. I don't want to be the one to make this an awkward evening, and I have a feeling Peter feels the same way. Reunions with old flames is weird.

John Ambrose tells us to order the "Pig Outta Water" pizza for him, and excuses himself to go to the restroom. He walks away and I watch after him, partly to make sure he's going the right way, but mostly to avoid this strange, stark difference in tone from the car. Just a few moments ago, we were all laughing. Now he twiddles his thumbs across from me, and looks around the room as if the wall décor is so much more interesting than his company.

I sigh. We can't just sit and wait for John Ambrose to come back. We're not children.

"Beth is so pretty," I say just as he asks me about school.

_Awkward! Why are you so awkward?_ I reprimand myself.

"You… don't have to do that," he avoids looking at me again.

"Sorry, I just wanted to…"

"Be normal?" he asks and then sighs. "Me too. It was okay when we first hung out, wasn't it?"

"It was. I'm just…Peter?"

He looks at me hesitantly like he has something to be ashamed of, but he still meets my eyes. I wish I could tell him that I'm the one who should be ashamed.

"I'm happy for you. Truly." I'm about to reach out and put my hand over his, but I know better. I place my hands neatly on my lap.

"We don't have to talk about it."

"I didn't just mean about Beth. I'm just happy for you in general. I know it's been…awkward. I'm awkward. But you know how awkward I can get when I'm not really sure how to act. I just get nervous all the time because I messed up before and I think you hate me sometimes…" I count the number of times I said "awkward" in my head and mentally slap myself.

Peter leans forward and says, "I don't hate you."

The waitress interrupts us, "What can I get for you?" She twirls her hair and listens attentively to Peter as he inquires about toppings. I used to be jealous whenever this happened, but now it's an expectation. I wonder if Beth gets these feelings when they go on dates.

Peter looks at me and then raises his eyebrows. I'm confused.

"Covey? Your order?"

"Right!" I order a build-your-own pizza with a heavy amount of toppings, and as I'm rattling them off, John Ambrose returns and slides into my side of the booth. I ask for more napkins and a Sprite. After the waitress leaves, John and Peter are talking about video games, and I sit back for a moment. _Well, he said he doesn't hate me._ I breathe out and listen in.

"…but it's so worth the price, man." John laughs and then looks over at me.

"What about Animal Crossing?" I ask innocently since I'm not exactly the gamer of my family.

They laugh and then launch into a conversation about home. I realize it's been a long time since I've been back. They both tell me about the new changes to the shops and malls nearby, and how the local hangouts have changed drastically since we were there. There are gastropubs and fancier restaurants, and Peter even talks about a new bakery that opened up. As they reminisce, any leftover tension is relieved.

The pizza arrives, and I look over to John Ambrose to watch his eyes widen at the delicious aroma. Peter snaps a picture and promises to send it to us in a group text later. I look at my own pizza and my own mouth is watering. There's no other way to eat pizza than right out of the oven when the cheese is still melting, and the toppings are just about to slide off. I usually burn my tongue, but it's always worth it.

It's a comfortable and filling silence. Everyone devours their individual pizzas, and it's hard to keep up a conversation when the food is this good.

Eventually, we slow down enough to chat while we eat, and I tell them about the new recipe I'm working on, and then a little bit about Kitty and Margot.

"Kitty's last boyfriend was a total nut though, right Lara Jean?" Peter asks through a full mouth.

"Yes! He was awful! He always smelled like… tuna?"

Peter laughs, "Right, because he worked at that sushi place."

_He did?_ "Right, exactly." I feign agreement. There was always something Peter knew before I did when it came to Kitty. It was sweet, but I guess I didn't think they were still talking.

"So, when are you both heading back home?" John Ambrose asks.

Peter takes another bite so I answer, "Probably Thanksgiving. You?"

"July for a cousin's wedding," John Ambrose says.

"I'm heading back next month," Peter says. "If you guys have anything you want me to bring back for you, let me know."

John Ambrose and I both say our thanks, and I start thinking about possibly sending home some cookies with Peter for my dad.

The waitress comes back and I ask for a to-go box for my leftovers, and separate checks. After getting everything settled, we head back to my car. John's hotel is closest so we agree to drop him off first. I feel both excitement and dread toward the ride alone with Peter, but I focus on the first task at hand.

The current conversation is on sports so I think it's safe to zone out as I drive. I used to be such an anxious driver, but now it's actually calming. I never thought I would feel that way, but time and a lot of practice helped, and now I think that's a pretty good analogy for how I'm going to get along with Peter. I smile at a memory of Peter and Kitty acting like I was going to crash the car at any moment. Okay, they probably weren't acting.

I laugh a little but I have bad timing because Peter slams back into his seat, defeated.

"No, Covey! He's so wrong about that movie! You guys are supposed to be good at plots and stuff!"

"Not a chance, Kavinsky! It was clearly deus ex machina. Right, Lara Jean?"

"I'm staying out of this!" I say and keep my eyes on the road. I have no idea what they're talking about.

"When do you leave, McClaren? Let's watch the new sequel before you leave."

"Wednesday, but I've got a bunch of classes at night. You free in the afternoons?"

They both continue to make plans as I pull up to John's hotel. We all step out of the car to hug and say our quick goodbyes.

"Oh wait, let me get your numbers for the photo," Peter pulls out his phone and hands it to me and then John. Just before we let him go, Peter stands next to me so that I'm sandwiched by them, and then stretches his arm out to take a selfie of all of us. "For the 'gram, right?"

"Don't ever change, Kavinsky." John laughs as Peter snaps the photo.

I give John a hug, then Peter does the same.

"See you guys!" John says and then walks away.

Peter opens my door and I get in. As he walks to the passenger side of the car, I have this brief moment of déjà vu from when we were dating and he'd let me drive us home. I shake the thought and start the engine. He buckles himself in next to me and puts the directions to his place on my Google Maps.

"Ready?" he asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for all the feedback and support! Hope everyone's continuing to stay safe. As always, let me know your thoughts! See you next week!


	8. Chapter 8

I tap my fingers on the wheel as I drive—a nervous habit. I ponder what he told me back in the restaurant: _"I don't hate you."_ The words echo in my mind, but it's still hard to believe when I'm the guilty one and he doesn't have to be that nice to me. I take a quick look over at him and he seems to sense it because he looks right back at me.

"Eyes on the road, right Covey?" he asks.

I look back at the road and chuckle. "It's just weird seeing you here in my car."

"I was in your car earlier. Right back there actually."

"I mean in that seat. You've never been in that seat before," I say but it's hard to articulate. "I just feel…"

"Out of place? Like we've traveled back in time?" he asks as he looks right back out the window. Maybe I'm making too much out of it, but it sounds like there's hurt in his voice. No, I know he's hurt. The last time we sat in a car like this, we broke up.

* * *

_I was late. Again. I pulled up to his apartment and walked up the steps._

Knock knock _._

" _Peter? It's me." I said._

_I could hear his footsteps come closer to the door but there was a moment before he finally unlocked it._

" _You didn't even come."_

" _I—"_

"… _you can explain? Lara Jean, this was important for me."_

_I sighed, "I know." I couldn't give him another excuse, but I had to try. "Can you please just come with me?"_

_His brows knitted together in frustration and pain. I just wanted to reach up and push them apart and assure him that I'm still here for him. But maybe I couldn't do that either._

_Without saying a word, he grabbed his keys and led me to my car. Well, it was my roommate's car, and that was worse. It meant I was in a rush and grabbed her keys instead of mine. It meant I forgot. It meant I forgot… him._

" _Alice was okay with this?" his asked me with resentment._

" _She…I'll apologize to her later too." I already called her from the road and she just laughed at my scattered-brain and felt sorry for me because she knew I messed up, but I couldn't say that now._

_I open the passenger door for him and then walk over to my side. It wasn't the first time I didn't plan well and it wasn't the first time I disappointed Peter. He was always so perfect: he came to my events, he took care of Kitty and my dad, and he called and visited regularly. He did everything right, and I became an unsupportive, selfish girlfriend. I knew he felt that way but he would never say it to my face like that._

_I started driving. I made a last-ditch plan to call up any restaurant that would take us and I'd take him to dinner and hear all about the game. But the reservations were full or it was first come, first serve and it was almost closing time, so I just kept driving._

_Since we got into the car, it was quiet. I knew he didn't want to hear another excuse but I just needed to talk to him._

_Just before I could utter another apology, he interrupted me to say, "You're always sorry, Lara Jean. I really wanted you there today. All the other guys' girlfriends were there. Their families were there. I mean I knew my mom couldn't come, but I thought we talked about it and I thought you'd be there in the stands for me. You missed the last three games and I've come to you for the last couple months. Where were you?"_

" _I know… I just… I mixed up the days and I was working on this class thing."_

_He sat there defeated, "We talked this morning and you said you'd be there. Did you forget even that conversation? Were you even listening then?"_

_I pulled over and started to cry. "I was so busy and I forgot and…"_

" _Lara Jean, do you love me?"_

_I looked up at him with wide eyes. "Y-yes, of course."_

_He interrogated my eyes as though he could find the truth in them, and I tried to think "I love you, Peter" as loudly as I could so the message would transmit. Then he looked down and sighed._

" _Can you take me home now?" he asked._

" _But Peter…"_

_He stopped looking at me and glanced out the window instead. "Please, Lara Jean. Just take me home."_

* * *

As I drive, I feel a little pain prickle at my heart and I grip the wheel tighter to alleviate it. I know it's been years since that drive, but in this moment, it feels like I've hurt him all over again.

"Can I play music?" he asks and it fully takes me out of the memory.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

He plugs in the aux cable into his phone and starts playing something I don't recognize. I try to keep myself grounded in the moment.

"Peter…"

"Covey…"

"I just wanted to say…"

"You're sorry? Come on, Covey, relax. It's in the past," he smiles and it really looks like he's alright.

I breathe a sigh of relief, "Okay."

"Now, I've gotta ask: what the hell is this?" he pokes at my fuzzy dice.

I laugh, "It was a gift!"

"From who? It's so lame."

"Tell that to Kitty!"

"Oh, Kitty. I should have known. I told her to get you the bobble head instead but she always said the fuzzy dice was funnier."

"You told Kitty?" I ask lightly. A weird feeling sits in my stomach knowing that Peter has still been within my vicinity all these years without me knowing.

"Yeah," he replies sheepishly, "we still call sometimes. I hope that's okay."

"Of course, I mean, it's your friendship with her. You were there for her when I wasn't able to come home so of course, you both are still talking. That's great." I mean most of what I said, but I can't help but still be envious and I know it tinges everything that comes out of my mouth.

"I couldn't just block her, Lara Jean." He says quietly.

"I know."

"Are you mad?"

I pause for a moment and then say, "No, I'm not. I'm just a little surprised because she never said anything."

I know it's hard to respond to that so the quiet that follows is expected. There's so much I want to say or that I feel we should talk about but for now, I'm calculated. I still feel like I need to be careful, but if anything, I'm the one that's holding on to too much.

The song changes to something we both know and I start to hum it so Peter turns up the volume and smiles at me. We went to a concert once and belted this song out till our voices were raw. Out of nowhere he bursts out singing out of tune, but I can barely understand the words are. I laugh and sing loudly too, and I pray no one really hears us because we sound awful.

Peter presses the button to bring down the window and all hopes of containing our singing is literally thrown out the window as he yells out into the wind. I laugh so hard I snort and Peter stops singing to laugh at me which prompts me to snort again. We're caught in this bad snorting-laughing cycle and when the song finally ends, I catch my breath. The window rolls back up and Peter relaxes into his seat. When I look over at him, his hair is ruffled right in front of his eyes and I almost want to move it out of the way. I ease into my seat and just breathe. I notice it always takes a while for us to get acclimated to one another before we finally act normal. I sincerely hope it gets easier with time if we allow it.

"That was fun," I say, "like old times."

"Good," he smiles, "now will you stop avoiding me at work?"

"I do not!"

"Oh really? Come on, Covey. What more can I do to convince you we're good?"

I lift one hand up, "We're good, promise!"

"Is it always going to be awkward? Should I be looking for another job?" he teases me more.

I roll my eyes, "No, Kavinsky. We're fine." And I think we really are.

"Because you know, I can always take my talents to Starbucks."

"Well, you'd look good in a green apron," I laugh.

"Yeah, it matches my eyes," he jokes back.

I pull up to his apartment complex and he instructs me on where to park. I've never been to this one before but it's pretty nice.

"Thanks for the ride, Covey."

"Any time," I say as he steps outside the car. I wave at him as he walks away, but at the last moment before hitting the staircase, he turns around and approaches my window.

"Do you want to come up?" he asks.

Not wanting to lose the momentum of our easy conversation, I say: "Sure."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everyone! I'm sorry I skipped last week, but with everything going on, I felt it was a necessary break. Anyway, I appreciate the kind words and hope you all are finding some time for yourselves. Happy reading!

I step out of the car, lock it, and follow Peter up the stairs to his apartment. As we walk, he tells me about his weird neighbors and the dog that runs around on the floor above him. It's strange to be walking with him to his place. We haven't done this in years.

He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. "Coming in?"

I hesitate for a moment and then step in cautiously as if his entryway is booby-trapped, but I do follow him in. The apartment is small but roomy enough for one person with the kitchen almost immediately next to the front door and his bedroom off to the side by the living room.

"So, yeah basically this is... it. Before you start, yes, I got everything from IKEA," he says.

"Hah, I told you that you'd love it." I place my bag on the couch before taking a seat.

He puts his hands up in the air, "I know, I know. You were right."

"So much brown though," I chuck one of his cushions at him. "Don't you like any other colors?"

"I thought you'd be proud of me. They were the ones on sale."

"Ah, price over design. I should be proud," I laugh.

The silence slowly creeps in, but when it sets, it's not uncomfortable. I look up and Peter stares right back at me. He hugs his cushion and seems like he's about to say something important.

Instead he asks, "Coffee? For the road at least?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He stands up to make some coffee and I follow him into the kitchen.

"I wanna see your fridge!" I say. "Stop rolling your eyes at me."

He turns around fast and catches my shoulders. "Why do you always want to see my fridge? What does it reveal about me?"

It's a déjà vu moment back to when he moved into his first apartment. It was basically this exact conversation. I end up repeating what I'd said many years ago: if he has containers of meal prep, he's training. If he has takeout, he's studying or preparing for something important. There was always so much to know from someone's eating habits. I open the fridge and it's full of raw ingredients.

"Ok, read me. What do you know about me now?" he chuckles, but I don't really know what it means.

"Uhh… you're cooking?"

"Ding, ding, ding."

"Since when do you cook?"

He scratches his head, "Beth's been teaching me…"

"Are you any good?"

He puts a finger up to silence me then grabs something from the middle shelf and passes me a fork. I look at him quizzically but try a piece of the chicken stir-fry anyway. Pinching my brows together, I make a big show of tasting his food.

"Well?" he asks.

"Well, it didn't kill me."

He swats my arm. "It's good, and you know it."

"I surrender, it really is good. You should send me the recipe."

He turns around and presses some buttons on the coffee maker. "Sure, Covey. I'll text it to you."

"You're really settled here," I notice.

"Yeah," he says, leaning back onto the counter, "it was rough in the beginning. I didn't like being a teacher at first. Let alone, gym."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. How do you like it at the school?"

"It's actually kinda cool. Teachers are crazier than I thought they were, but it's strange you know? Like, sometimes I walk into school and think, 'Am I qualified to be here?' But the students are great—generally."

"Coach Kavinsky has a great ring to it," I say earnestly.

"The kids call me Coach K. I'm so much cooler than our coach was,"

"Oh yeah, I bet. What's the teacher's lounge like?"

He tells me more about the inner workings of high school and some of the shenanigans they pull together as faculty. His eyes light up as he talks more about the students he works with and some of the activities he comes up with to get them more engaged. It's a different Peter than the one I left, and it's hard not to feel regret.

There's a knock at the door and Peter stops mid-sentence, "That's probably Beth,"

"Oh," I say, "I should head out,"

"Sure, if you want." He says and then unlocks the door. Beth walks in and sees me in the kitchen.

"Hey," she says kindly, "You must be Lara Jean."

I look over at Peter and then reply, "Yeah, it's nice to meet you."

"How was your dinner?" she asks, putting her stuff down.

Peter fills her in on the details while pouring some coffee into a thermos. All the while, I stand in the corner and shrivel into oblivion. Beth pulls things out of cupboards and she just looks so at home here. Maybe this is her home too.

"…anyway, I'm just gonna walk Lara Jean back to her car. You wanna set up the TV?"

"Sure, it was great meeting you Lara Jean! Oh, and I love your brownies!"

"Thanks," I say and follow Peter out.

"Sorry if that was weird," he leads us downstairs.

"No, it's cool. But thanks for the coffee," I walk a little faster to the car feeling redness spread over my face.

"Hey, Lara Jean?" he asks as I open the door and step in.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for tonight. And for asking about stuff at work. It was nice to talk about it,"

"Of course, Kavinsky. Any time."

He closes the door for me, but knocks on the window as I start the car. I roll it down and he hands me a little box.

"I know you sent it back to me, but I really think you should keep it. I mean, if you don't want it, you can always throw it out I guess. I just… it belongs to you. Thanks again for the ride."

He walks away and I wave back at him.

* * *

I sit cross-legged and stare at the box on my bedside table. I haven't opened it yet, fearful of what could be inside. I sent a lot of things back to him after we broke up because it was all too much to keep around. There were some things I wished I kept, but that was mostly for nostalgic reasons way after I got over everything.

Lying down on my bed, I try to think of something else and end up remembering how pretty Beth looked when she walked in. I focus on little details like her light brown hair cascading down her back, her eyes as she looked deeply at Peter as he told her some stories from our dinner, her little smile when she said she liked my brownies. I hate that I can imagine them in Peter's apartment watching a movie together cuddling. But I deserve it. After everything I put Peter through, I deserve it.

I get up and sit at my desk. Distractions are necessary right now so I try to work on my piece for the workshop tomorrow with John Ambrose. At the very least, I can make sure it's presentable. My fingers spread across the keyboard but no tapping noises ensue. I have nothing to write, nothing to edit. The piece isn't amazing, but it's fine as it is.

My phone dings on my bed and I pick it up. It's just a mail notification. Sighing, I tap on the contacts list and hit call. After a few rings, it picks up and there's loud music in the background.

"Lara Jean, I can't talk right now!"

"Kitty! It's a Sunday night, where are you?"

"Seriously, I have to go," she yells into the phone, but I can tell she's finding somewhere quiet because the music dies down a little.

"You could have told me that you still talk with Peter,"

She grunts in frustration, "I didn't want to make you sad,"

"I wouldn't have been sad, I just…"

"Look, can we talk about this another time? I really need to go."

"Fine." I hang up.

I throw the phone onto my bed before flopping down next to it. From the corner of my eye, the box stares back at me. Frustrated, I sit up and fiddle with it in my hands. The box itself is unfamiliar and likely just something he picked up around his mom's store to put the object in. It's cardboard and light and plain. It's probably nothing important, but if Peter gave it back to me because he felt like it was really mine, then I should just accept it, right?

Finally, I open the box, and nestled inside is a heart pendant and silver chain. The memories hit me hard and I snap the box shut. Sighing, I put it back on the bedside table. It's the very first necklace he gave me on our first valentine's together.


End file.
